


Like a Savage

by SweetGanymead



Series: More Gullible Than Innocence [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gratuitous Smut, Intoxication, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Spanking, big ol' donkey dicks, gross sappy feelings, more intoxication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetGanymead/pseuds/SweetGanymead
Summary: A world in which no one locks their damn door.





	1. Big Man with Big Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm a little late to the game, but who doesn't like Adoribull? Feel free to message me about any spelling or syntactical errors. I'm a grammarian, but dammit it's hard to think while writing porn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a few drinks and decides to alleviate some tension.

Dorian was still feeling a little embarrassed by the time he returned to his room. However, as he was also still feeling the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed, he decided to alleviate some of the pent up frustration he felt. 

In his current state, Dorian was barely able to remove his robes. He stumbled a bit, trying to undo his belts while attempting to retrieve one of his favourite “aids” from his dresser. While Dorian had more than a handful of toys, this one was made to custom specifications. 

The head was rather on the small side, tapering slightly out, the flat end fitted with a large copper ring for easy handling when slick. Made of solid bloodstone and adorned with runes, it could be rapidly heated for pleasuring oneself on a frosty night such as this.    

Largely divested, he lay on his bed, pulling a little glass vial of oil from under his pillow. 

He was in too great a hurry to completely remove his leggings, opting instead to get them as far down as his ankles. He oiled the phallus with a few well practised motions and settled back against the pillows. His fingers traced the shallowly carved rune at the base, warming the stone comfortably. 

Dorian hooked his left arm behind his knee, bringing his knuckles back around to bite down on his finger to give his free hand better access. With a deep exhalation, he forced the stone past the tight ring of muscle and into his aching depths. 

“Fuck!” Dorian breathed, allowing the toy to slip into him. He moved fluidly, in and out, testing himself, afraid to put more force behind his strokes. 

Flashes of the evening flickered behind his closed eyelids, despite his best efforts to fuck it all away. 

He let himself replay past events. The Bull seeking him out consistently, the implication of what that might mean. Dorian gasped softly, panting the qunari’s name.   

Despite a rather rocky start, Dorian fancied they were building up to something resembling a friendship. Their learned mistrust slowly fading as they fought back to back, finding a natural rhythm in melee. 

With the exception of the one time Bull tried to test his theory about flinging smaller party members behind the enemy. The Inquisitor had done their best to prevent Dorian from frying The Bull as the huge qunari insisted the only impediment to success in his venture was the mage being too large. 

The Bull had a great knack for provocation. He could find and push all of Dorian’s buttons. It was clearly intentional, which irritated him all the more. Any barb spat back was coyly reworked into a euphemism… or a direct vulgarity.   

 _I would conquer you._  

 

A few days ago, The Iron Bull began showing up in the library. Dorian had never expected The Bull was a literate fellow and so watched him warily as the qunari seemed to find the books closer to the mage more interesting; if Dorian moved down a few shelves or back to the table covered in his scattered notes, The Bull would materialise a few feet away. 

Dorian found his hopeful suspicions tested while reaching for a book on the top shelf earlier in the day. The Bull’s hand came to rest on his bare shoulder as the massive warrior reached over Dorian’s head. 

“This one?” The Bull’s voice rumbled behind him, finger poised at the top of a book’s spine. 

It was not, in fact, the book Dorian needed. He nodded wordlessly anyway. 

The book was held in front of him, The Bull leaning in, breath hot behind Dorian’s ear. Dorian resisted the urge to lean back, clasping the book to hide his shaky hands. Maker be damned, the title was in Common. 

“Hm.” The Bull did not immediately relinquish his hold on the book, turning it slightly. Dorian felt himself flushing in embarrassment, realisation dawning on him. That savage bastard had to have read the spine before asking. 

“Fereldan Almanac, 9:27? I didn’t know you were the farming type.” 

“Shows how little you know.” Dorian snipped, “I happen to be looking for information on growing hardier herbs in the garden.” 

Dorian pulled the booklet free and turned quickly on his heel. He marched to his table and sat down with it pointedly. 

The Bull did not immediately follow nor did he respond. He leisurely selected a book and sat across from Dorian, reading in silence from a trashy romance. Clearly, his ploy had worked. Infuriatingly, Dorian was certain he had played directly into those… huge, powerful hands. 

Hours passed before Dorian realised the time. He had surprisingly become so engrossed in reading the Almanac (he would definitely need to try the “hair of the dog” recipes listed in the appendix someday) he didn’t notice The Bull had left. 

Dorian put the almanac aside and stood stretching. His stomach growled softly, reminding him he had wasted an entire day. He glanced over at the novella The Bull had left. He opened to a dog-eared page and read a little of the passage. 

Quickly, he shut the book, looked around, and placed it very carefully back on the desk. 

It was time for dinner, he decided. And maybe a few drinks. 

 

His plate was cleared away by a redheaded serving girl as Cabot poured more deep amber liquid into his glass. He watched her cheerfully bounce off (bounce, bounce, bounce, so perky, the kind of woman most men enjoyed). 

Dorian drank almost as quickly as the sherry was poured. He beckoned for another and Cabot rolled his eyes, leaving the bottle without refilling the glass. 

A short while passed. Dorian had been sitting hunched over the tavern’s bar, indecorously slamming sherry. He was feeling so sorry for himself- desperately lonely while wearing impeccable eyeliner. The emptiness in his heart yawning into a desperate need to get neatly ploughed. 

If he had long curly red hair and huge jiggling tits, would he be sitting alone?         

The Iron Bull slid into the seat along side him. He winked (or maybe just blinked?) at Dorian while raising a hand to alert the barkeep. Dorian stared deeply into his glass. He would look anywhere to avoid the Bull’s investigative gaze, or those enormous, scarred hands. 

They chatted easily enough, The Bull taking Dorian’s meaning even when he wasn’t sure of it himself. Their knees touched periodically, companionably warm. 

Maybe it was the wine doing the talking (it always gave him a loose tongue). Dorian spoke more earnestly than he meant to, espousing his loneliness on winter evenings, so much colder in Skyhold than back home. 

The Bull had placed a large hand over Dorian’s. The unexpected gesture sending shockwaves through his entire body. Had the room suddenly heated? It was certainly spinning a little. Too much drink, too quickly, Dorian decided. With a quick excuse about the hour, Dorian tossed down a few coins and fled the tavern. 

 

Now Dorian lay alone in his room, whimpering against his own hand, slipping a fake cock in and out of himself. As good as it felt, it was no substitute for a real connection. But, was that what he really wanted? 

The Iron Bull confused him so utterly; so big and brash, he was a bit terrifying... Yet he seemed so capable of being kind. When Dorian tripped (or slipped) in the swamps (or sand dunes), the offered hand which accompanied a comment about skirts didn’t yank him up with any real force. If Dorian became genuinely upset at anything The Bull said, the apologies came easily and unbidden. 

The Bull’s warm breath on his ear… long, thick fingers resting lightly on his shoulder. 

And just now in the tavern, in full view of Cabot, the serving girls, and his Chargers, had The Bull meant to touch him so very tenderly? Surely, the brutish Ben-Hassrath would not woo sexual partners with sweet kisses or poetry. 

Or leaving dog-eared dirty books about. 

 _These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip._    

Dorian could feel himself very close to the edge. 

 _I’d pin you down and, as you gripped my horns, I would conquer you._  

Dorian was panting desperately now, muffling his cries with his fist. He was so, so very close to- 

The door opened and Dorian immediately dropped the phallus, attempting to right himself, pull his leggings up, cover himself, scrabbling against the pillows, forced to settle for slumping over to hide his arousal, knees pressed together. 

He peered up at the open door, through his fingers as if to hide in plain sight.

In the doorway, The Iron Bull stood larger than life and with a decidedly surprised look on his face.


	2. Lessons in Locking Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bull decides to pursue Dorian.

Bull felt a little bad, still sitting at the tavern. Cabot gave him a stern look, irked at The Bull for scaring off one of his best patrons. No doubt the pale wine Dorian had been drinking was more expensive than the mead and grog the Chargers favoured. 

Hissrad had not misread the mage. The little sidelong glances Dorian cast in his direction, the pink tinting his tan ears and cheeks when Bull turned to look at him head on. Eyes lingering a little too long on the expanse of his horns. 

When Bull placed his rough hand on Dorian’s smooth, brown fingers- Dorian had visibly shivered at the contact. Before he practically leapt to his feet, pulling away like he’d been burned, Dorian’s dark eyes had been heavy lidded, clouded with need. 

Even so, Bull felt bad. 

He finished his last drink, paid up, and left the tavern. Frost was beginning to stick to the ground. He watched the sky, the tiny flakes of snow glinted in the moonlight. 

He should probably let it go, chalk the evening up as a loss. While he enjoyed teasing the mage, he didn’t want to overstep a boundary, to actually frighten or offend Dorian. 

Bull recalled Dorian in the library. The smaller man had trembled at their closeness, nearly leaned back into the Bull’s broad chest. 

He cracked his back loudly and decided to follow the snooty little 'Vint. He’d be plainer in his approach, subtler and gentler. If Dorian turned him down again, he could simply apologise for misreading the situation and leave him be. 

He took a moment to compose himself before walking down the corridor to Dorian’s room. A fully erect qunari banging on one’s door might be more intimidating than inviting. 

As Bull came closer to the door, he stopped to listen. He was a little tipsy himself, had practically staggered in the snow, but it sounded like Dorian might be crying; soft whimpering, maybe muffled by a pillow? 

Bull knocked quietly but received no response. He tried the knob. It offered no resistance to indicate it was locked. With a resolute huff, Bull pushed the door open slowly. 

He wasn’t entirely certain what he had been expecting to find. Maybe Dorian weeping into his pillow, or slumped over at his desk, kohl streaking his his face. 

Poor guy must have been sadder than he let on, less horny than Bull thought. 

In any case, Dorian absolutely going to town on himself, eyes closed in an expression of pained ecstasy was not particularly high on the list of likely scenarios. Fantasy, sure, but in reality he had never seemed the type to masturbate furiously with an unlocked door. 

Dorian noticed the Bull straight away, scrambling to untangle himself from his leggings and cover himself. Resigning to the fact he had been caught with his pants down, Dorian covered his face, palms pressed to his lips. The gesture did little to hide his ears, by now as red as the stone cock between his thighs. 

“I, um,” The Bull started when Dorian made no move, only peaking at him through his fingers, clearly humiliated. 

Bull cleared his throat and tried again. 

“I thought I would come and check on you. I did knock.” He gestured to the door with his thumb. 

Dorian groaned in abject embarrassment, hunching over further, resting his forehead on his knees. Bull could hear snow pattering on the windows. 

“Do you… do you want some help with that?” Bull finally asked. 

The mage sat up a little, incredulous. His mouth moved like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. He looked away, brow furrowed. 

“Just come in and close the door. Lock it.” Dorian added the directive hastily. 

Bull did as Dorian asked. He stood patiently by the door, waiting for an invitation to come closer. The closest he got was a timid glance in his direction. 

He resisted the urge to sprint across the room and push Dorian’s legs apart. Bull took measured steps to the bed, sat the the foot, giving Dorian a little space. 

“Lay back.” The order was issued softly, more as a suggestion. Dorian bit his lip and hesitantly complied, settling stiffly into the pillows, arms still crossed at the forearm to cover himself. 

“Let me see that thing you’ve got there.” Bull lightly gripped Dorian’s wrists, settling them on the pillows on either side of his head. 

Dorian closed his eyes, trying to relax himself. Bull noticed Dorian was still half hard, a good sign. 

“Ah!” Dorian gasped in surprise as The Bull took him in his mouth. As usual, Bull's double entendre had been missed. It was frustrating, but he could feel the qunari smirk against his cock. 

“Y-you don’t have to- OH!” Dorian’s hips jerked as The Bull took hold of the bloodstone phallus by the copper ring and gave it a little twist. His breath was uneven as Bull began to thrust shallowly. Once Dorian was altogether hard, The Bull sat up to admire his handy-work. 

Eyes closed, lips parted, clutching the pillows, hips rocking for more friction- oh, yeah, this little 'Vint needed it bad. 

Bull took hold of Dorian’s leggings, twisting them up as a makeshift restraint. Dorian looked up at him, a worried crease between his dark brows. He seemed to start as The Bull used his garb to push his legs up, knees closer to his chest. 

With this new angle, Bull could press the cock much deeper, eliciting an rapturous cry from Dorian. The mage arched his back, hands clawing desperately at the sheets. The qunari began to pump the stone into Dorian with a rapidly increasing pace. Soon, he was practically pounding the writhing Altus open. 

Dorian’s eyes began to gloss over, his panting gasps becoming more strained and eager. Bull thought he looked simply lovely like this: overwhelmed with pleasure and impending orgasm, all thought suspended as he was fucked stupid. He had to be very close. 

“Ah, wait- wait, please, B-bull!” Dorian suddenly reached for him, flushed and slack jawed. “It’s too much!” 

The Bull released his hold on Dorian’s leggings, lessening the severity of the angle, taking Dorian’s hand instead. 

“Easy.” Bull soothed, maintaining his rhythm, strokes deep and purposeful. “It’s okay, just come for me, big guy.” 

Dorian did come, all spasms and whimpering cries, shaking under the Bull. He fell limp against the bed, thigh muscles still twitching. 

As the dildo was tugged out of him, Dorian’s eyes blinked open, still a little unfocused, and his gaze came to rest on The Bull.

The mage sat up too quickly, noticing The Bull’s persistent erection. Decorum would never allow a debt to be left outstanding. 

“Please,” Dorian reached for Bull’s cock, “Let me take care of this?” 

It was expressed almost in fright, to nip a future confrontation in the bud. 

Bull was not interested in holding Dorian in debt, but sensed a deeper need in the request. He shifted in the bed, without a word, to allow the smaller man freer access. 

He was pleasantly surprised by Dorian’s reverence to his member. Smooth, dark fingers cupped to cradle the qunari’s large testicles, plush lips parted to engulf his swollen dick head. The moustache _tickled._ In his repose, the mage appeared like one in worship: A 'Vint prostrate before Andraste’s alter. Nice thought. 

The Qun taught restraint, but Dorian’s desperate sucking begged indulgence. Before Bull knew what he was doing, he found himself thrusting madly into an obliging mouth. Dorian was fully possessed of a gag reflex, though if the man was willing to ignore it, the beast voiced no qualms. 

It was all Bull could do, not to slam fuck the moist depth presented to him. Dorian cast a heavy lashed glance up, hungry and needy, before the fat grey dick in his mouth jettisoned thick cream. Bull held Dorian’s head fast, pleased at how much the smaller man was able to swallow before choking. 

Dorian coughed and sputtered, leaning back on his heels, jism leaking from the corner of his mouth. Bull reached up, to catch and wipe some of the mess found there. Before he could begin to trace the dripping pattern, however, Dorian clapped his hand to his own lips in a sudden manner. 

The mage bodily thrust his larger companion aside, making a bee-line for the window. Leggings still around his ankles, he didn’t get particularly far before falling face first on the stone floor. 

Bull watched, a little dumbfounded, as Dorian managed to kick them off and made it the rest of the way to the window, leaning over the sill to vomit. He watched, stunned, before moving to steady Dorian against his retching. 

For the second time that evening, The Bull felt terrible. If he had guessed Dorian’s extraordinary level of intoxication, he would not have even considered pursuing him from the Herald’s Rest. 

There was no hope for an apology now. Dorian’s entire body going slack in Bull’s arms. What was there to do with a blacked out mage, aside from lay him to bed?

Too guilty to leave, Bull lay Dorian on his side and wedged behind him. The very least he could do was make sure he didn’t choke to death on his own vomit. If Dorian awoke, snarling and fuming, the qunari could always make a run for it. Hopefully before his ass burst into flames.


	3. Hang-Overs and Hang-Ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian wakes up and is not entirely on board with the previous night's events. Bull is a little hungover and does his best to smooth things over.

Dorian came to slowly. 

The Bull held his breath as the mage roused. The little 'Vint snored like nothing he had ever experienced before. The dissipating sound (was there a halla on fire in the hall?) alerted him to Dorian’s waking. 

Years in Seheron prepared him well. The Bull held as still as death. 

“Kaffas.” A small cough followed. 

Bull made himself like stone. 

The bed shifted, Dorian sitting up. Should he make a cute comment? No, he would play dead a little longer. 

“Maker, what a-” Dorian now noticing a massive, naked qunari in his bed. Decades of training bought the ensuing silence. 

“ _Fuck_.” Dorian gasped. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …!” The weight of the smaller man lifted from the bed altogether. It was all Bull could do to keep his eyes shut. 

“Oh, Maker, you _idiot_.” The mage speaking to himself. 

“How the… how could….” A panic attack building. 

“ _Fu-uuck!”_  

The Iron Bull employed his considerable acting skills, stretching and yawning awake. He gave Dorian ample time to recover. 

The look of absolute terror was a surprise, then, as he feigned sleepiness. He did his best to play it off. 

“‘Morning, big guy.” The Bull mumbled. 

Dorian, fingers pressed tightly over his mouth, made no answer, staring wide eyed. 

“Come back to bed,” Bull gestured openly, “too cold out there for a northerner.” He held up the sheets as an invitation. 

His jibes were not met at all. Dorian backed against the wall, attempts to control his breathing too obvious. 

“We didn’t.” Dorian finally exhaled. A statement of fact, insultingly hopeful. There was such a plaintive pleading in his voice, Bull contemplated playing dumb. 

“We did.” Bull responded flatly, but without malice. 

“ _Fuck_! Fasta vass- Fucking-Andraste’s fat _fucking_ tits.” A dirty mouth was often a sign of a dirty mind, in The Bull’s experience. 

The Iron Bull sat up, deciding his hands off approach was not as helpful as initially assumed. 

“What’s wrong?” The qunari asked point blank. 

Dorian made a frantic gesture using both his hands, lips moving, making very little sound. His dishevelled hair made him look like a cornered cat.  

“I’m not sure I fully understand.” The Bull, sarcastic. 

“Oh! Get out!” Dorian shouted, in a state of panic. 

“Just walk into the courtyard, from your room, naked?” The Bull moved to comply. 

“Wait!” 

Dorian moved to block the door, though Bull had yet not left the bed. The mage was thinking, cogs turning behind his dark eyes. 

“I-I-I-” 

“Misspoke? Had a little too much to drink last night? Are being a brat right now?” Bull supplied helpfully. 

“Why did you follow me?” Dorian demanded, voice tight. 

“If I had known you were drunk beyond all reason, I wouldn’t have.” 

“I _was not_ -” 

“So why throw me out now?” 

“I wasn’t ready last night to-” 

“Ready? So it’s just my timing that’s off? Can I please say something? Otherwise, I’m happy to leave.” As much as he wanted to apologize, he was feeling a little hung over himself, head beginning to pound with the effort required to calm a progressively hysterical 'Vint. 

Dorian consider the request for a few moments. He practically sulked back to the bed, almost ignoring The Bull. He sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. Deliberately, he laid back down, pressing against bare qunari flesh. 

A challenge? More like a dare. 

Bull laid a hand on the mage’s hip. When the trembling did not subside, he worked his calloused thumb into a tense back. 

“I didn’t fuck you last night,” Bull began. 

“Ha!” Dorian snorted, “I think I’d know it if you had.” 

“I _didn’t fuck you last night_ ,” Bull growled, not quite impatient, “because you seemed a little too fucked up I would have felt worse for trying.” 

The smaller man made no indication he would interrupt again. Bull ordered his thoughts. 

“First,” Bull tried a little softer, “I am sorry. It really wasn’t my intention to take advantage of you.” 

“I’m hardly a blushing maiden.” 

Bull chose to overlook the heat rising from Dorian, the blush entirely evident on his person. 

“Second,” forging ahead, “I would like to try this again sometime a bit more sober. But, we would need ground rules.” 

It felt like an eternity dragged on before Dorian responded tersely. 

“Let’s hear them, then.” 

The weighty tension seemed to drain from the room. Bull released a sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

“To start with, I don’t want to sleep with you if you’ve been drinking. I mean it,” he attempted to cut off the little huff Dorian made, “at least while we are learning each other, I’m not going to fool around with you when you’re pissed.” 

“ _Fine_. I assume you’ve got other rules, O Mighty The Iron Bull?” 

“Just one. And no I’m not going to ask you to stop being a smart ass, I actually enjoy a bitchy bottom.” 

Dorian laughed a little. Bull smiled. 

“I won’t ever hurt you. Not seriously and not if you don’t ask me to. I want you to feel safe with me.” Bull struggled to find the right words before continuing, “You are safe with me. If we go too fast, if I’m too rough, if something doesn’t feel right, you are to say ‘katoh.’ I’ll stop right away. 

I won’t ask why. I won’t press the issue. You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want to. I truly don’t want you to be afraid.” 

“If I say ‘katoh’ now?” Dorian asked, barely above a whisper. 

“I’ll get dressed and I’ll leave. I’ll even make sure there’s no one in the hall first. I won’t come onto you again unless you come to me.”

“If I ask you to stay?” 

“I will stay. We don’t have to fuck. I can just hold you until your hangover goes away. Or at least lessens.” 

The mage rolled over to face him. The qunari let him search his face, looking for any sign of deception, any proof Hissrad had spoken the words and not The Iron Bull. 

“Stay, please.” 

Bull was only too happy to oblige him.


	4. A Funny Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian investigates the cons of being an asshole. Sera assists him in making poor life choices.

Dorian didn’t remember falling asleep. He was less nauseous now, more rested.

The Bull wasn't there, but a note propped against a tall tankard of water was left on the bedside table.

It read, simply, ‘Whenever you are ready.’

The penmanship was rather legible, though stark and unembellished.

He drank deeply, glad to wash away a little of the taste of cum, puke, and sherry. Not exactly an award winning combination.

“Uhg.” The magister’s son in him terribly offended by his own smell. Sex, sweat, poor life choices and all of that.

Dorian teetered to the wash basin, heating the water with a few words as he cast his hand over it. A few drops of rose oil, a little splash of crystal grace extract. He scrubbed himself clean. He took great care to remove his make-up so it could be immaculately re-applied. The wash cloth dipped gingerly between his legs.

Funny, he vaguely remembered The Bull ramming him hard with the toy, but there was very little soreness this morning. There was a little ping in his chest, almost like disappointment the night left no lingering physical effects. Stench aside.

The light of high noon greeted Dorian as he made his way back to the library. He was nervous Solas might say something, the wiry elf nodding an acknowledgement as he hurried past him up the steps.

The Bull was not in the library, what had Dorian expected after reading the note this morning? The ball was in his court now, after all. 

A deeply unsettling notion.

Solas said nothing, indeed did not look up, when Dorian hurried back downstairs and into the main hall.

He wasn’t sure where he was heading. Dorian found himself in front of the Herald’s Rest again. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Did he want The Iron Bull to be in the tavern?

Regardless of the mage’s desires, Bull was nowhere to be seen. Cabot was at his post already, stocking glasses and serving a few early bird patrons. He gave Dorian an appraising look.

“Afternoon, boy.” Cabot placed a glass on the counter, awaiting a request. 

Dorian drummed his fingers on the wood, knocking on it anxiously, unconsciously. The Bull had told him he would not sleep with if he was drunk. 

“Mackay’s?” If he was going to commit to being an ass, no sense in going by half measures. 

“You got it.” As if sensing by bar tender’s intuition Dorian’s irrational compulsion to get tanked, he left the whiskey bottle and moved on to serve another customer.

“Heeeeyy, fancy boots.”

Dorian looked over his shoulder to see Sera. She was bouncing on her toes, clearly eyeing the liquor on the table in front of him.

“Would you like some?” He did not wait for her to respond before signaling the grumpy dwarf for another glass.

Sera plopped down lightly, overlooking the cup, reaching instead to drink directly from the bottle.

“Bleh!” She pulled face, sticking out her tongue. “That’s total rubbish. A bit early for getting full knackered, innit?”

Dorian shrugged, helping himself to a generous pour. 

“Ooooh! Gunna get a little crocked, mess up your fluffy hair?” She reached for his coif, earning a glare as Dorian swatted her off.

She cackled delightedly, taking another swig. 

“Yeah! Let’s get juiced!” 

“Sauced?” Dorian ventured, quirking a manicured brow at her. 

“Nah.” Sera stated cryptically.

He pulled the bottle back a little aggressively, topping off the glass. 

“You don’t really _like_ girls do you?” A tactless city elf to the last. 

“I don’t have any issues with women.” The bottle was rapidly reaching the half-empty point (always half empty with alcohol, never half full). 

“Pbbtht! Not what I meant. You’re _funny_ right?” 

“Funny ‘ha-ha’ or funny like your haircut?” 

“Ouch!” She shouted with a laugh, whacking him in the chest. “I guess….” Sera gave the question more consideration than it deserved, “Well, like how my hair is pretty short for a girl, yea? So maybe funny like that?” 

Dorian snickered. 

“Yeah, anyway, laugh all you like. Funny like I am how ‘bout?” 

“Sure, I’m funny like you are.” The mage conceded quietly, realising he’d never met someone truly... ‘funny’ like they were. Even The Bull, indiscriminate in his tastes, can find his fun wherever he chooses. 

The Mackay’s dwindled, the liquid disappearing into their glasses. Eventually, Sera took the last of the liquid courage and, with a little verbal encouragement from Dorian, decided to pursue Red Hair Jiggly Boobs.

Dorian watched the smashed elf fall (quite literally) all over the objects of her affection. It didn’t look like Sera was getting very far. 

Still, slumped heavily over the bar, his prospects of getting laid tonight didn’t seem much better. 

He fumbled with his coin pouch. The shiny little pieces inside doubled and blurred in his vision. Shit, they looked like they might be dancing. 

He fished out a handful. If it wasn’t sufficient, Cabot would sure as hell let him know the next time he came in. If it was too much… whatever, at least the miserable old dick might crack a smile for once in his life. 

Dorian strode into the evening. It wasn't snowing any more, but fluffy blankets of white were piled high on the grounds. He held his robes high, trying to keep them from trailing in the slush as he wobbled towards his room. 

His boots (fan-fucking-tastically gorgeous, though they were) did not appear to have the proper treads for this substrate. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he’d misstepped, didn’t really notice he had, until he was flat on his back looking up into the sky. 

It was a beautiful afternoon. Venhedis, it was afternoon? Maybe only a few hours with Seras…. 

Sparse clouds drifted lazily along, brilliantly blue against the vivid oranges and reds of the setting sun. 

A shadow blotted out the pretty sunset, two pronged at one end. 

“H’lo, Bull.”              


	5. The Snow Faerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian decides to take a snow nap. Bull gets sage advice from his second in command.

Bull and Krem had been walking towards Herald’s Rest after an intense training session. Krem letting his chief know he was getting old, Bull only briefly sucking in his gut.

Krem stopped short, a quizzical look on his face.

“Is that Pavus?”

The great qunari followed the Charger’s astounded gaze. Sure enough, Dorian was picking his way unsteadily through the snow.

“Does he seem..?”

“Fuckin’ smashed!” Krem crowed, glee plain on his face _._ He doubled over laughing as the mage seemed to lose his footing on the air and topple over backwards into the snow.

Bull had actually been going to ask if he looked _alright_ , but didn’t comment further. Dorian didn’t seem to be moving, a fact which worried The Bull. It was one thing to pass out in the comfort of your own room. The snow was a dangerous place to fall asleep.

The pair moved through the snow to offer assistance. Dorian gave no indication he might stand, and neither made an immediate move to help him up. Were he not lying perfectly still, Bull might have thought he was merely playing in the snow.

“H’lo, Bull.” The prone mage nodded, then added quite cheerfully, “Avanna, Krem!”

“Hail, Magister Pavus!” The upright 'Vint waved down at him, “Taking a nap in the snow? Or are you making snow faeries?”

“I _am_ a snow faerie.” Dorian declared, voice solemn.

Krem plopped into the snow beside him, bursting into riotous howls.

“Okay then.” The Charger wiped his eyes, cleared his throat. He couldn’t quite place the emotion displayed on the Chief's face, though amused it was not.

“Let’s get you up, you big snow faerie.”

Dorian dusted himself off, giving Krem a little mock salute.

“The magesterinum thanks you for your service.” The Altus wavered in his stance, looking like he might fall again.

Krem stifled another giggle fit. He had to admit a certain amount of admiration for a magister’s son, willing to leave all his creature comforts behind, to get plastered on shitty beer at the ass-end of the world.

“You are…” The Bull finally spoke, “...really drunk. How much did you have to drink?”

“A hypo-bole, to say the least. An _inordinate_ amount.” Dorian sniffed, “It’s not all on me, I blame Sera. Do you know she called me _funny_? Funny I never really realised she was _funny_ , too.” He sounded a little confused about the fact.

Bull processed the information and decided he was just as confused.

“She is right, about my boots, though.” Dorian mused as an afterthought.  

“FANTASTIC for looking at, terrible at- for snowing walking. Aren’t they wonderful boots, Bull? Krem, tell Bull how fabulous my boots are.”

“They are fabulous, Chief.”

“Oh, my hero!” Dorian’s knees buckled and he went down again.

“Right.” The Bull reached down, lifting Dorian bodily from the snow. His bad knee ached with the cold and the effort. He hoisted the drunken man over his shoulder.

“I’ll catch up in a few. I’m going to put him to bed.”

“Not like a sack of potatoes!” Dorian whined, “Carry me like a _princess_.”

“Say no more, Chief! Goodnight, Magister Pavus!” Krem raised his fist to his chest in salute.

“Vitae benefaria!” A little muffled by the qunari’s back.

Bull walked up the steps and down the hall, debating what (if anything) he should say. If this was some sort of ploy, to get under The Bull’s skin, they would need to have a talk. If Dorian really thought passing out in the snow was acceptable…. Well, they would still need to have a talk.

“Can you get out of your wet clothes okay?” The Iron Bull was very careful to keep his tone measured, strictly a question of concern for Dorian’s well being.

“Nope.” A simple reply with irritating implications.

“I’m going to undress you.”

“Yippie.” Said without conviction.

As the qunari did his best to remove the mage’s overly-complicated clothing, he did take note the tall boots were quite nice: good quality, hugging Dorian’s calfs in an appealing, if fashionable, way.

“Do you remember our ground rules?” He hadn’t meant to sound quite so gruff.

“Yup.”

“Why did you drink so much today? Avoidance tactics?” Bull was genuinely curious, a little worried he might have set something in motion without meaning to.

“Honestly?”

Bull made an assenting noise in his throat, finally pulling the second boot off.

Dorian stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“I don’t know.” A terribly unsatisfying response.

“I know, bad answer.” Dorian seemed to read The Bull’s thoughts, he tried again, “I- I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to be at the tavern. You weren’t, I went for broke I guess.”

“Because I wasn’t there? Were you mad at me? Trying to die in the snow was what, some sort of punishment?”

He helped Dorian into bed so he was on his side, arranging pillows behind his back, pulling the sheets over him.

“Not at all!” The smaller man looked gravely serious, catching the qunari’s arm. “I… wasn’t… sure what to do with myself?”

Bull strangely understood what Dorian was driving at.

“Well, next time you get all confused about your feelings-”

“Uhhhhhhg. That is so gross. _Feelings_.”

“Please know I am happy to talk with you about them.”

Massive, tender fingers lightly stroked Dorian’s closely shorn hair. Lips, scarred and slightly chapped, pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” Dorian mumbled. He was already snoring by the time Bull closed the door to his room.    

Back in the Herald’s Rest, Krem found the Chief oddly silent, contemplative. The Iron Bull was looking off into space, a thousand yard stare which restlessly shifted to Sera every few minutes.

The elf was asleep at the bar, she looked an absolute mess.

“I kinda like him.” Krem finally announced, snapping Bull from his dour trance.

The qunari regarded his lieutenant, instantly regretting teaching him the skills of a Ben-Hassrath when he was met with a too-knowing grin.

“You didn’t ask my opinion, sure. But I’ll let you have it. A little bit of a drunkard, but probably more mixed up inside than anything.”

When Krem was not asked to stop, he continued.

“I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you when I did. Tevinter isn’t exactly hospitable to any… deviations from the norm. Snow faerie, indeed.”

Krem was pleased with himself, seeing the great hulking Chief bark with sudden laughter.

“Thanks, Krem.”

The rest of the Charger’s joined them soon after. Bull let himself enjoy their company. He would have to remind himself to take Sera back to her room, too, before the night was over.


	6. Milk Moustache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian decides to get fucked rather than fucked up. Bull is amenable.

Vague memories of Krem laughing hysterically and a cold, wet back flickered at the edge of his mind. He had a lot of work to make up for a few days of indulgence.

Solas greeted him with a few kind words, making the human mage wonder how many people watched him make a complete ass of himself the day before.

Usually, Dorian would merely return the greeting but today he stopped for a longer chat. They ended up taking lunch together in the gardens, Dorian excitedly explaining some of what he’d read in the old almanac, Solas patiently exchanging ancient Elven wisdoms.

Dorian brought down a few books, sitting cross legged on the floor, watching the elf paint from the corner of his eye. It was very late when Solas offered to help him carry the books back to the library.

The next few days flew by like the first. The calm elf had more than enough interesting stories about the Fade to keep Dorian entertained.

Solas certainly provided solace for the frazzled human (ha ha).

It was four days before Dorian felt confident enough to return to the tavern.

“Take care.” Solas distractedly called over his shoulder as Dorian exited his sanctum into the main hall.

“You, too! Do remember to have a little supper this evening.”

The elf dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Shame, really, Solas only fancied female elves. Library sex sounded magically delicious.

 

Cabot slammed a few coins on the counter before him.

“Ruin your innards as you will, but let no man call me a thief.”

Dorian had certainly pegged the dwarf wrong. Nothing on the Maker’s green earth could make him smile. The mage pushed a few coins back, pocketing the rest. Cabot grunted his thanks.

“What’ll it be today? Just got some White Shear in the other day.”

“Um.” Dorian had noticed The Bull the moment he entered the tavern. Liver rotting whiskey sounded grand about then, but he had his eyes set on another vice.

“Steamed milk?” The mage tried.

Cabot looked baffled, then offended.

“You screwin’ with me, boy?”

“No?”

 

Dorian took a few sips of his drink, letting the ceramic mug warm his hands. Maybe he should just grab a quick, stiff drink before- he swallowed hard, steeling his resolve.

The Bull was no doubt aware of Dorian approaching the table, but didn’t look up until the last moment.

“May I join you?”

The Charger’s all looked up at him and then to Bull, but it was Krem who pushed out a chair with his foot.

“Good look for you, Altus.” Krem laughed, tapping his upper lip.

Dorian sat, trying to deduce the meaning behind the gesture.

“Oh!” The mage wiped away the milk foam from his neatly trimmed moustache hastily. Awkward though it was, the Charger’s seemed satisfied he was humanised enough to resume normal conversation.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days, big guy.” The low rumble of Bull’s voice produced a warm, tingly sensation in the smaller man.

The mage used shear force of will to squarely face the qunari. Bull was not meeting his pointed look, however, his eyes instead on the cup in Dorian’s hands.

“I’ve been in the garden. Getting my hands dirty, as it were.” Dorian wiggled his fingers, effectively luring The Bull’s gaze from the milk. Thank the Maker, it was getting a little uncomfortable.

“I really only understand about a third of what he says, but Solas knows his herbs. I must give him that.”

“Hmmm. Does he?”

Dorian squirmed a little, ears burning, fingers tracing the edge of his mug.

“You know,” The Bull drawled, “I think I saw another one of those old almanacs you’re so fond of in the library.”

“Did you now?” The man truly hoped his voice wasn’t as high as it rung in his ears.

“Yeah… yeah, I did. Should I show you where it is? If I recall it was on one of the top most shelves, sorta hidden.”

“I have spent entirely too much time this week in the library. Maybe a little later this evening?” There was his normal, velvety voice.

“Sure, I’ll pick it up. Come by mine later and I’ll give it to you.” More absurd wordplay.

Krem watched the two of them leave, Bull first and then Dorian a few minutes later, nearly tripping over his skirts ( _pardon_ , robes) in his rush. No book ever written could possibly be that interesting.  

 

Dorian hurried back to his room, heart beating hard. He tidied his make-up, gave himself a thorough scrub, dabbing oils behind his ears, under his arms, between his legs.

He should change, he thought. He pulled his finest silk robes from the drawer.

 _Big hands._ Probably couldn’t be trusted with the finery. Something rather more worn and expendable was substituted. The satin underpants were likely fine to wear, he grinned, blushing a little.

He hurried back along the ramparts, taking the long way around to Bull’s room, ensuring no one caught full sight of him. He smoothed down his moustache, giving the ends a final twist as he approached the vast wooden door.

Dorian hesitated, no going back now. He knocked loudly three times.

“It's open.” The Bull called from inside.

Dorian leaned on the door, it required a shove to open.

Bull sat on the bed, legs spread to give a clear view of his massive grey cock and heavy balls. The ruddy head was fully exposed, foreskin pulled back as he palmed the length with an oiled hand.

Dorian hurriedly slammed the door behind him, he managed to look both aroused and pissed at once.

“Bull!” He growled, “You impossible ass! What if I had been someone else? What if I had been,” tense, hushed, “the _Inquisitor_?”

The Iron Bull laughed heartily, the sound booming in the tiny room. The quick nervous steps, pausing before the door. He didn’t need specialised training to peg Dorian at his door.

The pissy 'Vint was still at the door, his back to The Bull, feeling along edges of the wood.

“Bull… do you not have a lock on your door?”

“No, no lock.”

The mage rounded on him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“ _What_?”

“Just come here, baby. Come ride the Bull.” He pumped his hard member a few times, punctuating the sentence.

Dorian seemed loathe to leave the door, as if it would fall off its hinges without him to support it. He was eyeing the expanse of qunari cock hungrily. With a final look of disdain at the unlocking door, he crossed the room to Bull.

“ _Fuck_ your door, you mindless brute.”

“Fuck your filthy mouth, spoiled heathen.”

A charged moment of silence.

“Promise?”

Bull pulled the smaller man onto the bed. Buttons popped and seams tore as he ripped open the front of Dorian’s robes.  

“Fucking beast!” Dorian hissed, fumbling with the laces on his boots.   

“You love it.” Bull lifted the mage up, helping him out of his leggings. No sense repeating easily avoidable accidents. Besides, there was rope under the bed.

“I _like_ these, Dorian!” Bull tugged at the waistband of the soft underpants. He had never fucked a man in panties before. Maybe another time the could be incorporated into play. They slid off easily and were tossed aside.

At last Dorian was completely naked under him, exposed and vulnerable.

“If we’re going too fast, or if I-”

“I know, I know.” Dorian’s chest heaving, “I just say ‘katoh’ and you’ll stop.”  

Satisfied, Bull pressed Dorian’s legs apart, grinding an impressive erection against Dorian’s bare backside. He held both brown wrists fast in one large hand.

The whimper Dorian let out was music to beastly ears.

Their kisses were electric, more teeth than tongue. Bull fumbled around in his sheets, he knew the little bottle of oil was somewhere there.

Dorian cried out, in-humanly thick fingers digging into him. Well oiled though they were, two alone spread him wide.

The Bull bit into the soft flesh of Dorian’s neck by the clavicle, reveling in the choked noise his ministrations produced. Bull pressed in another finger, feeling Dorian strain to accommodate them all. No trace of Tevene condescension, the tanned mage rocking deliriously on the fingers, trying to force them deeper.

“Ahh… ahh, Bull, ah!” Little gasps, sharp and sweet, Dorian was testing The Bull’s grip on his wrists while bearing down on the digits opening him up.

The qunari wiggled his fingers, testing and teasing.

“Festis bei umo canavarum…! Just fuck me already.”

Bull frowned. This attitude simply would not do.

He released Dorian, pulled his fingers out. He rummaged under his bed, pieces of armour and dull or broken knives which needed sharpening, an old apple core, a little embarrassing… bingo! Rope, just coarse enough to bite into skin a little.

“Get on your knees, face the wall.” Bull ordered.

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Make me.” The bratty 'Vint clearly needed to be taught a lesson.

It was exceedingly easy for The Bull to make him. He deftly bound flailing limbs, wrists to ankles, arms between his legs. Ass up, face against the mattress. The perfect position for a little discipline.

“Beg me to fuck you.”

Dorian swayed his hips a little, enticing.

“Make-” He wasn’t given a chance to finish the thought, a calloused hand slapped hard against his bare ass.

“ _So_ unoriginal.” Bull chuckled, tracing the outline of his hand print, before bringing his open palm down on the other cheek.

Again and again, he spanked the bound mage, whose bilingual cursing promptly gave way to plaintive wailing. Dorian’s eyes were shut tightly, his breathing hard. He had sagged forward into the bed, muscles lax, cock dripping.

Bull poured an abundance of oil into his hand, fingers working back into that tight heat.

He studied Dorian’s face, curling his fingers. There probably wasn’t a word for the noise Dorian was making, a hybrid between purring and moaning.

“Please.” Dorian breathed, so quiet Bull wasn’t sure he’d said anything at all.

“What’s that? Didn’t quite catch it.” He asked, still toying with the 'Vint’s ass.

“Please fuck me, please, please, please! Please just fuck me! Please!” Dorian practically shouted, voice sounding a little horse.  

“Awww, of course! See, good manners will get you everything in life.”

He entered Dorian slowly, with great care. Though the bound man’s toes curled, he didn’t yet seem physically capable of taking all of The Bull.

Rather than slamming in, Bull eased about halfway in before pulling out, pushing part way in again.

Beneath him, Dorian was starting to shake. Tears streaked his face, though he was keening into the sheets, begging for more.

Bull reached under and around his lover, stroking Dorian’s twitching cock in time with the motions of his powerful hips.

Dorian cried wantonly as he spilled over Bull’s hands, spasming and quivering.

The Bull pulled pulled out, rolling the still tied mage onto his back. It only took a few rough jerks to finish himself into Dorian’s open mouth, tongue out to catch more qunari cream.

He untied the ropes, massaging blood flow back into Dorian’s slender fingers. Before he could ask for verbal confirmation Dorian was okay, he caught sight of his face and snickered.

Deep green eyes fixed him with an irked glare.

“What now?” Dorian demanded peevishly.

“Sorry, big guy, but you’ve got-” Bull tapped his upper lip.

“Fuck sake.” Dorian mumbled, exhausted, using the edge of a pillow to wipe away the come caught in his moustache.


	7. Defining Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round two and round three.

It was still early, light streaming in through the hole in the ceiling when Bull was slowly pulled from pleasant dreams by Dorian’s mouth.

Dorian was making a valiant effort to fit the giant dick into his mouth while it was still flaccid. Even soft, it was too big for him.

“Trying to get a rise out of me?” Bull laughed when Dorian groaned, not annoyed enough to stop sucking but probably close to it.

“Lay back.” The qunari commanded, pleased when Dorian complied without missing a beat.

They fucked lazily for a while, Dorian opening a little more than the first time, taking The Bull a little deeper. A more exploratory and intimate screw than before.

Bull finding sensitive nipples, ticklish ribs, a clear love of hair pulling, possibly choking. Dorian discovering the horns were receptive to touch, ears liked being nibbled on, a love of hair pulling and very likely choking. Common ground was good.

Dorian clung tightly to him, nails raking into The Bull’s back, as the last few inches of cock slid deep inside.

“Easy.” Bull cautioned, using his bulk to pin Dorian against the bed, preventing the mage from frantically impaling himself. “Don’t be greedy.”

“Shut up and slam me into the mattress. _Please_.”

His request was ignored, yet somehow Bull managed to make the denial erotic. The lumbering bastard moved so slowly, Dorian unable to change the angle or speed under the crushing weight.

Indignant squirming is not what Bull wants to see; his ultimate goal (tonight) is not to create lasting frustration.

Once Dorian has spent his energy trying to manoeuvre under The Bull, then the heavy hips begin to roll, a little more pressure. Only when Bull is convinced Dorian won’t suddenly buck- cause the large qunari to slip, thrust wrong, inadvertently injure him- can his motions take on a cadence.

Dorian’s eyes going hazy, blank, this is what The Bull wanted to see. Dorian’s legs spread wide, no question in his mind Bull will take him where he needs to go. Almost passive in taking what is being given. Insensible to everything but an unyielding orgasm driven home by a too fat prick.

The little ‘Vint is still a little too tight to really let loose and pound away. The friction is outstanding, though.

His breathing quickens, head first falling back, before it’s lifted again to press ecstatic kisses along Bull’s stubbly jaw.

“That’s it, Dorian. That’s it, come on that big qunari cock.”

Dorian bit him. Hard. Who’s the damn savage now?

As soon as Bull felt sticky warmth between their bodies, he gave himself over to his own lust, his own come pouring into the mage beneath him. No messy moustaches this time.

 

It was much later in the evening when they both realised they were starving. It wasn’t very likely, at this point, anyone other the Cabot would still be offering food in Skyhold.

While Dorian is the first one out of bed, Bull is the first to notice the mage’s clothes are torn beyond salvaging.

“How am I supposed to head out with just these?” Dorian demanded, a boot in one hand, his pants in the other.

“I honestly didn’t give it much thought at the time.” Bull responded, feeling a little sheepish.

“I can’t just walk back to my room shirtless, like some cock-sure warriors I know, damn it! It is freezing out there!”

Bull wanted to take Dorian seriously. But with his hair tousled, make-up smudged, smelling less like his flowery oils and more strongly of a uniquely Dorian smell, Bull finds him rather adorable.

“Here, I’ll find you something.” The big man does his best to placate his upset lover, rooting around in a large chest of ill-matching garments.

The shirt is entirely too large for Dorian’s frame.

“And it stinks like it hasn’t been washed in _ages._ ” Dorian continued to gripe.

“It looks good on you.” The Bull stands before him, leaning down for a kiss.

“I look good in everything.”

“Damn right, you do!”  

A few little smooches and everything starts up again. Both tumbled back onto the bed, Dorian still wearing Bull’s shirt. The great Bull reclining, letting Dorian straddle broad grey thighs to fuck himself senseless.

Bull kept steadying hands on Dorian’s hips, partly guiding the motion, mostly to feel firm muscles flexing. He bounced the smaller man, like he used to bounce coquettish serving girls. Dorian more substantial than they were, more weight helping him drive deeper and deeper.

Beast though he may play, Bull is not stupid enough to voice this particular observation. He only needed to imply Dorian was too heavy once to learn grave consequences would ensue if he misspoke again.

How badass would flying mages be in battle, though?

But Bull doesn’t want to insinuate there is anything wrong with Dorian or his body, to fuel an already existing complex.

Dorian is absolutely perfect to Bull- passionate, feisty, argumentative, proud. His body long, lean, well built, his smooth skin a deep tan, dotted with dark moles, unmarred by battle scars.

Oddly, it’s really the ‘Vint’s hair that drives The Bull wild. The qunari is able to grow a full beard, wiry and full as anyone might like, but for the most part he lacks body hair. Dorian is so wonderfully, fantastically fuzzy! His chest, underarms… the trail from his navel to between his thighs… there’s even a patch of downy hair on the small of his back. Everywhere there is hair, the smell of arousal seems to concentrate.

Bull shifted their position, his back against the headboard, so he could take control again. He reached under his shirt to fondle Dorian.

The mage was maybe only half hard. It was possible he didn’t have another orgasm in him, but the warrior saw only opportunity.

Tanned fingers gripped ridged horns as hard as possible. Bull smiles against Dorian’s lips, rock hard again, feels like victory. The little ’Vint pleading incoherently, starting sentences in Common, switching to Tevene, abandoning words altogether in favour of dulcet moans.

They came together. The Bull wondered if anything came out, balls so empty they nearly ache.

“Fuck me.” Dorian swears weakly, still twitching.

“Pretty sure I just did.”


	8. Expressing Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bull helps Dorian sort through some issues.

“I look foolish.” Though Dorian phrased it as a statement, his tone indicated it was a query.

Bull can’t think of a way to respond without starting something. It never works well to take the bait. _Does this make me look fat, is my ass big, are my tits too small?_ These kinds of word combinations are loaded, there is no right answer.

He took Dorian’s hand, already a little cold though they had only just reached the bottom of the stairs. Maker willing, this satisfied as positive reinforcement.

In any case, Dorian didn’t look foolish. He didn’t really look like himself, or the himself he presents to the world, but could blend into a crowd easily enough.

The night sky was dark and clear overhead. The courtyard was empty, the snow and the stars theirs alone for the time being. They held hands as they plodded towards the Herald’s Rest. Things were going quite smoothly until they stood in the shadow of the tavern.

Dorian stopped short, for a second The Bull thought he might have gotten a foot stuck in the snow. It looked like the mage needed to say something, but refused to look at his companion.

“Okay?” Bull asked.

“No.” Dorian was biting his lower lip, deliberating how to express himself properly. He pulled from Bull's grip, folded his arms.

This was not an entirely unexpected turn of events. He didn’t have much knowledge of Tevinter customs or social mores, but experience with humans had taught public displays of affection could be met with mixed reception. Bull let his hand go easily and maintained a slight distance.

“It’s alright. I understand.” The qunari did his best to convey he truly wasn’t hurt by the loss of contact.

The assurance did not seem to allay Dorian’s anxiety. Without warning he frowned and snarled, “Hand holding?” The words levelled like an accusation.

“I can absolutely handle you being a impossibly crass pig, manhandling me in semi-public places. You obscene ass! What am I supposed to do with hand holding?” Tears began to well in the corners of his eyes.

“Woah!” Bull held his hands up. This was… less expected. He quelled his fight or flight response, trying to make sense of Dorian’s expression.

“I have no idea what to do with you.”

Bull is cut off before he can start to respond, _seemed like you had a firm conceptual grip back there in my room_. Not the time for joking, anyway.

“I have no context for this,” Dorian motions between them, “I- I- I _like_ you." Scandalised by his own words, "I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want to run away, but it can’t be my fault again. This is too much to go on. You don’t even _have_ a lock on your door.”

The Bull let his smaller companion finish speaking. He tries to piece together the logic, thinks he might have a tentative grasp on it.

“I’m sorry you’re upset.” Not the worst start, Bull thought, stepping a little closer, “I’m sorry I confused you. What we did today- You didn't do anything wrong.”

The space between them is closed and Dorian does not resist when Bull takes his hands, lacing their fingers together, bring them up to his scarred mouth to warm them with his breath.  

“I’m grateful you shared yourself with me today.” Bull kissed the shivering fingers. “I understand if you want to keep your private life private. But, you don’t have to pretend to be someone else with me, unless you want to. I’d be happy to show you off, if you'll let me.

“You know me, big guy. I don’t give two shits who knows what I do, as long as they don’t try to interrupt my fun.”

“Are we just having fun, then?” Dorian asked, voice wavering.

“What you see with me is what you get: I’m not trying to trick you. I’ll always be there the morning after, unless you kick me out. Even though you snore like a Fereldan Frostback. This can be whatever you need it to be. I ‘like’ you, too. I’ll even get a fuckin’ lock for my door, if it means that much to you. Okay?”

“Fereldan Frostback?” Dorian huffed, still misty eyed.

“Hey, I love dragons!”

Dorian mulled this over. Obviously, somewhere across the Tevinter border was a jackass to whom Bull owed a black eye.

Emboldened, Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian, fingers still entwined, so the mage’s arms were behind his back. Sexually spent, the embrace was protective rather than aggressive.

“I want…” Dorian was carefully weighing his words, “I want to want to be comfortable with us… with whatever we are.” The mage shook his head, evidently not pleased with his own phrasing.

Bull pressed their lips together lovingly, indicating he had understood.

 

Krem watched the little drama unfolding below from the window. He hadn’t intended to spy on them, but the second floor of the Herald’s Rest is empty, boring. There wasn’t anything to do, aside from watching condensation forming on the glass.

Colour him impressed, he’d never been able to seal the deal so quickly himself. The Chief and Dorian are walking side by side, when the Altus says something, Bull takes his hand.

About two thirds of the way across the yard, Dorian pulls back. Krem can’t hear what he’s saying, but he doesn’t look happy. Point of fact, he looks scared shitless.

They are too far away for the Charger to catch any sound, but close enough for him to see Dorian is wearing one of Bull’s shirts. The collar is loose, despite being buttoned to the top, exposing skin. Krem is not sure he’s seeing right in the low light, but it looks like the elegant bronze neck might be covered in bite marks.  

The Chief’s stance is neutral. He lets Dorian finish talking before he closes the distance between them. The smaller man listens for while- something Bull says seems moderately annoying. They embrace (Krem commits the somewhat kinky nature of the hug to memory for use on tavern girls later) and, just like that, they seem to have resolved whatever spat transpired.

Krem would give the left testicle he doesn’t posses to read a situation like old Bull. He watches them continue towards the door, hand in hand again.

It’s sweet enough to make you gag, Krem thinks. He’ll wait a respectful amount of time before heading down to tease them.

 

Cabot scarcely gave the odd couple a look.

“You drinking tonight? Eating?” He grunted. When the two nod, Cabot seemed complacent, “Well then congratulations. Order something expensive to celebrate.”

With a bottle of Rowan’s Rose in hand, they tucked into a dark corner. Dorian was still fussing with the large shirt when Red Hair Jiggly Tits served them their food. He eyed her warily, her bosom upthrust confrontationally, as she laid out the silverware.

Bull didn’t miss Dorian’s stink eye, waited only for the girl to turn her back before pulling the mage into his lap.

“Pretty girl,” Bull rumbled against the back of Dorian’s neck, “not as much fun to bounce with.” He punctuated his statement, jostling the smaller man on his knee, mimicking the earlier motion of his hips.

“Hey, Chief, hey Pavus.” Krem sat without invitation, helped himself to some cheese and bread. So worth the wait, he concluded, to catch a magister’s son on a Ben-Hassrath’s lap.

Dorian was very red, but didn’t extricate himself from his position. He straightened a little, adopting his usual cavalier visage. The stiff posture revealed his bare throat, very unmistakably covered in love bites in the candlelight.

“Krem! What’s the good word?” Bull greeted his lieutenant pleasantly.

It takes a little while for Dorian to warm up to the conversation, to get comfortable with another person at the table (a fellow countryman, no less). The Bull is pleased his Charger is putting his training to use, avoiding the temptation to taunt straight away.

It was a step in the right direction, Bull decides, when they call it a night. Dorian doesn’t even complain when he is swept off his feet, carried like a _princess_ back to his room.

Absolutely exhausted, they undress each other and crawl into bed. Bull only slightly regretting his impassioned speech when Dorian begins to snore.


	9. Mini Epilogue: Obligatory Story Namesake Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a perfect balance is hard.

The Bull was awake before the knock on the door landed. He eased off the mattress, slowly untangling himself from the sheets and Dorian’s limbs. He dried a little saliva from his chest on the sheets. Apparently he had been drooled on at some point in the night.

Before he put on his pants, he took a moment to arrange the blankets around the sleeping man. With a click, he unlocked the door to open it.

“Good mornin’, Spar-” Varric recovered remarkably quickly, eyes travelled a little further up.

“Tiny,” Varric amended his greeting. Dorian was very audibly snoring from the bed.

“Hey, Varric. What’s up?”

“You know… just taking in the morning air. The Inquisitor wants to know if Sparkler there would give ‘em the pleasure of his company on a romp through the woods. Incidentally, your name also came up, so you just saved me a trip.”

“Give us a few, we’ll meet you by the gates.”

“Take your time. Inquisitor isn’t in much of a hurry and neither am I.”

Varric departed, already muttering possibly taglines for a new book under his breath. Rumours might spread a little faster than Bull had hoped.

Dorian stretched and whined sleepily as Bull tried to rouse him.

“We’re needed at the front. Doesn’t sound too critical a mission.” He spoke softly in the mage’s ear. “Just in case, I’m going to get some things. I’ll see you down at the gate.”

 

The Bull doesn’t bother to tidy up his room, he’ll deal with the mess when he gets back.

The room still very much carried the odour of sex and sweat. It was a pleasant reminder of the previous night.

Bull packed a little more than he would need for a few days, always smart to be prepared. The pile of junk he’d pulled from under his bed is still scattered about. Before closing the bag, he remembered the wool shawl he saw last night under the bed.

If it is not musty, he might as well bring it along for when Dorian inevitably bitches about how cold it is. If that doesn’t earn major points, nothing will.

While reaching under the bed, his fingers brushed against something soft. Bull chuckled as he pulled out the soft something.

Dorian’s lovely little satin panties. He brought them to his nose, giving them a sniff. Disappointing. They smelled like flower oil and soap, not even a bit like arousal. Bull placed them carefully on his dresser.

Shawl found, he stuffed it into the pack and pulled the drawstrings taught.

The Inquisitor and Varric were already sitting on the grass by the portcullis when Bull arrived. They shared a little bread and sausage, conversing about inconsequential matters. The Inquisitor didn’t look at Bull any differently, the little dwarf must have held his tongue.

The Bull only beat Dorian by a few minutes. The mage approached swiftly, rummaging in his bag, a large piece of dried fruit between his teeth. He slowed as he approached, skirting the large qunari slightly to stand amid the group. His high collar is fastened to obscure his neck.

Dorian meets Bulls gaze evenly, but doesn’t say anything as the Inquisitor brings them up to speed on the day’s objective: Venatori getting a little bold along the east bank of Lake Calenhad, maybe some red lyrium deposits in the same area, two birds, one stone.

As they set out, Dorian falls in step with Bull. Not much different from countless other little ventures they’ve taken together. Perhaps this walk is only conspicuous by the lack of the mage’s insults or the qunari’s goading.

When Dorian offers Bull a piece of dried fruit, he seems shy about it.

“Tastes a little like leather.” Bull tests the silence between them. A decent setup: _picky for a mindless brute; I wouldn’t have guessed you had a sense of taste from those pants; I’m sorry, should I have brought the rotten apple from under your bed?_

But the smaller man doesn’t say anything. He appears to be studying The Bull, trying to figure out how he is supposed to respond.

Bull had been earnest when he told Dorian there was no need to pretend to be someone else around him. Frankly, The Bull is not interested in dallying with a mousy or subservient partner. Dorian’s appeal is his haughty ego, his quick, caustic wit.

A little like a dragonling, the mage can even project fireballs!

By lunchtime, Bull is running out of ideas. Dorian is way too quiet, a fact both Varric and the Inquisitor are beginning to notice. He misses the opportunity to castigate the qunari at every turn, doesn’t complain once about the drizzling weather.

The quiet has become strained. The Iron Bull decides to take a gamble.

“So, Dorian, about last night…”

Varric chokes on the cheese he’s eating. Dorian looks momentarily startled, his mouth open a little. He sighs, as if to brush the question off.

“Discretion isn’t you thing, is it?” Clearly an attempt to end the conversation, to keep things civil and polite, to avoid an argument.

The correct thread to pull, the qunari thinks with a smile. Maybe if he phrases his next words perfectly. Says something so stupid the temperamental ‘Vint will have no choice but to retort.

“Three times!”

Dorian drops his plate.

“Also, do you want your silky underthings back, or did you leave those as a token?” The panties are no doubt very expensive, not something Dorian would likely want to part with.

“Wait... Did you “forget” them so you’d have an excuse to come back? You sly dog!”

Dorian is an unbelievable shade of red. Bull almost feels bad. Almost.

“If you _choose_ to leave your door unlocked like a _savage_ , I may or may not come.” Last chance for diplomacy.

The Inquisitor is looking between the two of them, not sure if intervention is necessary or possible. Varric has his hands pressed together in front of his mouth, a massive grin on his face.

“Hey,” Bull holds up his hands amicably, “speak for yourself, big guy. You know my door is always open.”

The mage jumps to his feet, trembling with fury. A few little flames are flickering on his finger tips.

“When I get back to Skyhold, I am going to burn your stupid, fucking door to ashes.” Dorian hisses.

“That's the spirit,” Bull continues eating, “I love putting on a show.”

The dwarf’s bawling laughter saves The Bull from being roasted alive. Realising they currently have an audience, the mage plops back down with a growl, attempting to regain his composure.

When they set out again, The Inquisitor gives them a wide berth, a precaution if fire or electricity starts flying about.

Dorian is still a little miffed, walking a few feet ahead of The Bull, nose in the air. For the rest of the day, he most assuredly finds fault with approximately everything the qunari does or how he does it.

However, that evening he sits next to The Bull before the fire, shivering a little. Bull is glad he has something for the occasion.

Bull produces the wool shawl with a flourish, draping it over the smaller man’s shoulders.

“It’s itchy.” Is how Dorian says thanks.

“More functional than satin.” How The Iron Bull says you’re welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first piece of fiction I've ever completed. More instalments likely to follow because, hey, sleep is for the weak.


End file.
